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Squinting, I try to make out the words, and when I do, my heart pounds in my chest.
Thank You.
You’re not alone, Slate.
We love you, Slate.
We’re with you.
Each person here, reminds me that I’m not alone. That maybe I don’t have the family I was born into, but I do have a home.
I raise my stick, and they cheer louder.
At that, my team huddles around me, and I’ve never been more ready to play.
“For fuck’s sake, ref. You plan to make a fucking call today?” Dane yells out from the penalty box, taking his chances by calling out the ref for the second time in the past few minutes.
“You sure you wanna poke the bear, Sin?”
“I’ll do more than poke if he doesn’t start using his eyes and that fucking worthless whistle of his.”
I chuckle, knowing that Dane is about to lose his shit if this continues, and it will likely result in more stints in the penalty box.
We’re both waiting for our time to be over so we can get back on the ice and end this fucking game. It shouldn’t be this fucking close.
The Bulldogs are assholes, and the refs seem to be blind to it. The cross-checking is out of control, but it appears the only calls today are going to be made on us. Go fucking figure.
“It’s fucking bullshit. They’re getting away with everything.”
I grin over at my friend. “You sound like a whiny bitch.” Normally, Dane Sinclair is more the type to let his anger simmer beneath the surface, but something is up with him today, because he’s letting it all out.
He glares at me before breaking eye contact, shrugging. “Molly’s rubbing off on me.”
I roll my eyes. “You and I both know you whine far more than Molls does.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“Hers. Every time.” I grin. “If not for her, you’d be a bigger asshole.”
He bobs his head. “No question. Fair point.”
My eyes search the bleachers until they land on Cassidy and Molly. They’re chatting about something animatedly, Cassidy’s hands flailing in the air like they do when she gets excited.
My stomach twists, telling me that I’m bothered. I just don’t know why.
Maybe it’s all the eyes on me. Knowing what they know. Feeling their possible judgment.
Or maybe it’s something else entirely.
“Slate, you’re up.”
I fist bump my friend and skate onto the ice, ready to push down this unnerving feeling and get my head in the game. These Bulldogs need to be snapped, and I’m in just the mood to do it.
34
CASSIDY
My throat burns today.
